


Out of Control

by yotsu8a



Series: i'm wide awake, it's morning. [2]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pre-Slash, directly post-kira, matsuda is sad and ide Worries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14985209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yotsu8a/pseuds/yotsu8a
Summary: He had grown to appreciate noise over the past year — entirely, it seemed, in the form of Matsuda Touta, who was all excited chatters and meaningless exclamations. He had been annoyed, at first; then he had tolerated it; then he had appreciated it (begrudgingly, and with mostly silent discouragement from Aizawa). He had to admit that it had affected him.Which only made it all the more disturbing when all those excited chatters and meaningless exclamations went silent.





	Out of Control

**Author's Note:**

> contains alcohol abuse and implied/referenced suicide, as per the tags. matsuda is Very Sad. there's also some animal abuse, but it is neither intentional nor violent and the animal ends up okay.
> 
> check out the prequel companion fic, 'atrocity exhibition.', by my babe teethrotter ;0 !!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996093

An acute sense of foreboding draped itself over Ide as soon as he exited the cab. Fare paid, the driver rolled off into the distance, leaving him uncomfortably aware of the cold silence of the night and just how utterly _alone_ he was; he had always enjoyed the quiet, but the dread twisting knives through his stomach just made it all the more unbearable.

He had grown to appreciate noise over the past year — entirely, it seemed, in the form of Matsuda Touta, who was all excited chatters and meaningless exclamations. He had been annoyed, at first; then he had tolerated it; then he had appreciated it (begrudgingly, and with mostly silent discouragement from Aizawa). He had to admit that it had _affected_ him.

Which only made it all the more disturbing when all those excited chatters and meaningless exclamations went silent. 

Ide had covered for him at work — so had Aizawa and Mogi, because they _knew_ — but it had been three days now since the end of the Kira case, three days now of no contact from the task force’s youngest member, no response when called. In the end, he had been the one tasked with seeking Matsuda out because, through some strange means, he had become the one out of the three of them who knew him best.

Aizawa gave him a look as he left work that said, _you might find a corpse_ , and Ide thought, _don’t remind me_. 

He was lucky that Matsuda had offhandedly mentioned to him once where he kept the spare key, and as Ide gripped the doorknob his nerves suddenly spiked. Briefly overcome with nausea, he released his grip, leaning entirely against the door; he’d been anxious to the point of illness before, and he had felt this coming on all day, but that did little to soothe the sudden panic pumping through his veins. The dread had been cold and looming, mechanical and suffocating before, but suddenly it was burning hot and screaming in his ears to _move move either run and hide or get in there already_ , and his heart was pounding in his chest. He swallowed thickly and pushed the door open.

He nearly doubled over and threw up on the spot. 

First and foremost, Matsuda’s living room smelled very strongly of alcohol, and Ide had been there a couple of times before — enough to know that this was very much _out of the ordinary_. The empty beer bottles scattered over the floor were _also_ most certainly out of the ordinary.

The third and most out of the ordinary thing, and the one that most intensely made him want to vomit, was Matsuda, who was lying entirely still on the floor. 

Ide forcibly swallowed the bile down his throat and rushed to the other man’s side. It was when he dropped to his knees that he realized his hands were shaking, but, with some fumbling, he managed to press his fingers against Matsuda’s wrist.

_Thank god._

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or shake Matsuda awake, and instead Ide momentarily closed his eyes, forcing his trembling breathing to a regular pace and silently consoling himself with the information that _he’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s fine, he’ll be okay_.

Upon closer examination, he realized that he was actually currently kneeling in a puddle of vomit, and that the substance was spattered across Matsuda’s chest as well; in addition, the floor was not only covered in bottles, but also in shards of objects that he could only assume were destroyed in some sort of drunken rage. He was briefly overcome with pity, protectiveness, and something else he couldn’t name. For the first time in a while, Ide felt close to tears.

He was suddenly jolted out of his contemplation by a whine from next to him, and glanced overto find that Matsuda’s dog — a small Shiba Inu with some cutesy name he couldn’t remember at the moment — had made its way over to him at some point. Ide sighed heavily, reaching over to scratch behind its ears.

“When’s the last time he fed you, huh?”

(As it turned out, it most _definitely_ had not been fed that day, and not the day before that, either, so Ide took it upon himself to figure out where Matsuda kept the dog food and get the poor animal fed and given clean water. He had been under the impression that Matsuda kept it very well taken care of, so the state it was in was concerning on multiple levels, to say the least.)

A few minutes later, Ide was back in the same position (with a bit more concern for the puddle on the floor this time) and faced with the simple fact that he would have to get the younger man up at some point. It would be an unpleasant task, he was sure, but there was no way he could just _leave_ him — not like _this_. He contemplated, again, shaking the other man awake; after a brief pause, he took Matsuda’s hand hesitantly into his own. 

“Matsuda.”

It took a couple more attempts with gradually ascending volume to rouse the man awake, and once he succeeded, Ide was congratulated for his efforts by a pained noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Matsuda stirred reluctantly with the movements of a man who wanted to be anything except conscious, grip tightening against Ide’s hand and eyes blearily flickering open.

“I-Ide…” His voice was hoarse and confused, and Ide shifted his arms around the other man, hoisting him up with a bit of struggle until Matsuda was sitting halfway on his lap. 

“Are you alright?” he managed, and it came out far sterner than he meant it to. “What have you even been _doing_ these past few days? Are you _trying_ to drink yourself to death?”

Ide regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, because Matsuda just stared at him blankly for a solid few seconds before suddenly bursting into tears.

“L-leave me _alone_ ,” Matsuda gasped between sobs, straining weakly against Ide’s grip. “Just _leave me alone_ , I — ”

“Come on, Matsuda, don’t give me that. I’m not leaving you to your own fucking devices.” He was sure that his voice was audibly shaking, but if the other man noticed, he didn’t show it. “You’ll feel better after you get cleaned up.” 

He reached for a glass of water he had had the foresight to pour when he’d been taking care of the dog and pressed it against Matsuda’s lips. The other man seemed like he was about to struggle but thankfully complied, and Ide set the glass back down on the coffee table, standing and offering a hand to the other man.

“We’ve got to get you cleaned up.”

“I-I told you to fucking _leave_ , didn’t I?” Matsuda's voice cracked in the middle of the question, punctuated swiftly by a weak sob. His breath smelled disgusting. “You don’t need to b-be here, I’m — ”

“I _want_ to be here, Matsuda. You’re not thinking rationally right now — at least do this for my sake.” His words were returned by Matsuda’s tearful gaze before the man finally afforded him a nod and gripped his hand.

Normally Ide would be embarrassed to see another person naked, but these were special circumstances, and the concern overrode his own abashed inclinations. For his own part, he only removed his shirt, but that was because Matsuda had gotten vomit on his chest on the way to the bathroom; his unfortunate companion, on the other hand, clearly hadn’t bathed since before the warehouse. The truly worrying thing, really, was how little convincing it took Matsuda to allow Ide to help wash him in the first place, and how silent he was during; once, Ide was sure the other man would have teased him or at least tried to joke about the situation, but now he was quiet aside from the ever-softening stream of sniffles and the odd sob. 

Ide breathed out a quiet sigh from where he was kneeling rather uncomfortably outside the tub. His hands were submerged in suds and Matsuda’s hair, and he was suddenly struck with an odd, sad feeling somewhere at the back of his chest. Still, the air sat awkwardly around him — it was practically _clinging_ by now — and once the other man had stopped sobbing, he made up his mind to start talking.

“Are you alright?” he asked, finally, as gently as he could manage. 

“… N-not really.”

Ide pressed his palm to Matsuda’s forehead, motioning for him to tilt his head back. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want to.”

His brow furrowed; Ide grabbed the plastic cup from the side of the bathtub and dipped it underwater. The contents slid down the back of Matsuda’s head. “Well, it’s pretty obvious that you _need_ to. Talk to me — I won’t leave you alone until you do.” 

Matsuda leaned back forward as Ide withdrew his hands. Staring down at the water swirling around his ankles, he muttered, “Light was Kira. What else is there to say?”

Ide knew that wasn’t the truth — not _all_ of the truth, at least — but he decided against pressing the subject until they’d finished.

Matsuda’s bedroom was messy, but it was a preferable discussion place to anywhere else in the house. Besides, Ide was fairly certain that the messiness was due to Matsuda’s typical living routine and not a product of the last few days, because the bed was clearly unused and the air felt stale. Matsuda, at least, didn’t take much convincing to climb onto the mattress, and Ide shortly followed; a few seconds later, the dog joined them, and while Ide didn’t particularly like animals, he didn’t have to heart to shoo it off when petting on it was clearly helping Matsuda stay calm.

“I told you what’s wrong. Aren’t you going to go?”

Ide shifted, frowning; the words sounded reluctant, hollow, and he felt himself fighting the urge to grab Matsuda’s hand. “I don’t think you should be left alone,” he stated bluntly. “You’re only killing yourself like this. I don’t intend on letting that carry on.”

“Why _not_?” Matsuda snapped, tone suddenly rough; Ide could nearly _feel_ the other man’s tears coming. “I don’t see why you can’t just … just _leave me_. Maybe I _am_ killing myself like this — maybe that’s the fucking _point_ , Ide!”

Ide was suddenly ushered into silence. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t _expected_ this, to some extent, hadn’t had an idea of the state Matsuda would be in when he found him (if he found him _alive_ ), because he _had_ , but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. This was _unlike_ Matsuda, to a downright _disturbing_ degree. He wanted to comfort him, to make him believe that there was hope, but Ide had never been accustomed to that kind of thing; his mind was too set on logic, on acting on what he _thought_ and not what he _felt_. Purely emotional statements were utterly foreign, and he found himself fumbling.

“There wouldn’t be anyone around to take care of your dog if you died,” he pointed out finally.

Matsuda’s eyes widened, and, for a moment, they both looked at each other; then the other man bursts into tears.

_Shit._

Ide probably should have _realized_ that saying something like that was only going to make things _worse_ , but now he was back to square one, reduced to watching helplessly as Matsuda sobbed apologies into the aforementioned dog’s fur. He sighed heavily, resting his hand on Matsuda’s shoulder.

_Let’s try this again._

“You made it through the Kira case, didn’t you? You saw it through to the end — hell, Matsuda, you were one of the only people who were there from start to finish. If you died now, it wouldn’t mean anything. It would all be in vain. Plus, I…” Ide cleared his throat. “I, for one, know I’d be pretty upset if you died. Especially after all we’ve been through.”

Matsuda fell silent, briefly failing to respond before finally glancing up to meet Ide’s eyes; finally, he offered a shaky smile. “I guess … I guess you’re right.”

Ide swallowed thickly; then in a single, fluid movement, before he had time to talk himself down, he wrapped an arm around Matsuda’s shoulders. The other man let out a slow breath and relaxed against his side; he allowed himself to close his eyes.

“It’s getting late,” he breathed, finally.

“I only just got up,” Matsuda mumbled. “… Kind of hungry.”

Ide chewed on his lip. Somewhere, there would soon be Kira worshippers stirring in the sudden absence of a self-made god; across the city, Aizawa was probably waiting in anxious impatience for a phone call, for an update, good or bad, in an apartment that still didn’t feel like home. Somewhere else, his ex-wife was probably putting their children to bed; Soichiro and Light Yagami were buried next to each other in a cemetery an hour down the road. An unfamiliar feeling was stirring within him.

“I think,” Ide stated, “I’ll call in sick tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> out of control by oingo boingo is a good song, i'm weak for matsuide, and...... yeah that's all i got.
> 
> http://sugurushimura.tumblr.com/


End file.
